


luxuria amor

by treksmix



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treksmix/pseuds/treksmix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balem Abrasax was a devoted patron of the temple of his mother’s body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	luxuria amor

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for the fact that Balem is totes doing the do with his mom.

There was poetry in her eyes, he thought. Poetry written in blood, poetry carved in bone and covered in ash. Poetry he wrote dissertations about with his mouth against her skin.  
  
Balem Abrasax was a devoted patron of the temple of his mother’s body. There had been taboos, ages ago, about things like this. About the lips of sons painting soft kisses across the flesh of their mothers. But in the civilized time they lived in, there was no worry that a union of genes so closely aligned might create a child less than optimal, biologically speaking. The bodies could be regulated, clipped and fixed to eliminate such crudities. No children were created unless they were absolutely desired. Nothing was left to chance.  
  
In such a world, what harm was there in bodies finding religion in each other? Adults could make decisions for themselves, and Balem would never have chosen otherwise when it came to Seraphi Abrasax. There was no choice he would have rather made than to lie with his head against his mother’s soft, sweat-sheened chest, rising and falling gently as she caught her breath after what they’d just done.  
  
Her sheets were soft and blood red, draped lazily over his body and hers, and his hand drew circles across her stomach as her fingers kneaded through his hair. Seraphi’s eyes were closed, but Balem’s weren’t. He was awake, and painfully so.  
  
“If there’s something you’d like to say, you should say it,” she said, still not bothering to open her eyes.  
  
“Silence is a viable conversational option when words are a gamble,” Balem quipped with a small smile. “You taught me that.”  
  
Seraphi’s eyes opened lazily, and she smiled. “That I did.”  
  
Balem propped himself up on his chin. His mother’s hair was tousled and messy in a way that few ever saw, since Seraphi was known for her elaborate hairstyles. She’d spend hours with her designers coming up with strange, wonderful new ways to wear her long, black tresses, and when she debuted the look, whatever it was, the other Entitled women would scramble to emanate it, to follow in her lead. He liked it best, of course, like this. Knotted from the way his hands had dug into it in the heat of the moment. Alive with volume from the way he’d twisted it around his fingers and pulled gently as she called out his name. That was the way she liked it, and what she wanted, it was his duty to provide.  
  
“Are you sure about this, Mother?” he asked her, his voice quiet. “About the boy. The second son.”  
  
It was an awkward subject, he knew. He’d reacted less than admirably upon first receiving the news that his mother had begun preparations to have another child: a son. She’d chosen his name already: _Titus._ He disliked it. It was decadent. It lacked subtlety or refinement, a name that boasted too highly of its owner.  
  
His mother sighed.  
  
“Balem,” she said. “You will always be my sweet prince. You are my son, and my heir, and nothing will ever take that from you. I am your mother.”  
After that, Balem was quiet. He diverted his eyes from hers, and watched his fingers as they continued making little patterns across the golden olive skin of his mother’s bare stomach. She was his mother.  
  
“But am I not enough of a son for you?” he asked. His voice was steady: if Seraphi had taught him anything in this life, it was how to keep his voice steady and devoid of emotion. To play one’s cards openly, to reveal how one truly felt, was a terrible choice as far as business went. Rather, one’s emotions should be utilized like weapons, like arrows hitting their mark. In this vein, Balem’s voice was hurt. Whether or not this was the truth was irrelevant.  
  
Seraphi laughed.  
  
“You are plenty enough for me in all respects,” she said, and the double entendre of her words wasn’t lost on Balem. Flattery was a weapon his mother wielded well.  
  
“And yet another son will occupy my place, one day.”  
  
“No,” she said evenly. Her voice was clinical and precise. “Your place is to inherit the bulk of my company and to manage my corporate assets in my stead. Your purpose is as my heir, and you are well suited to it. Your place is your own.”  
  
Once, Balem had been offput by the clinical way in which Seraphi discussed his purpose: why she’d opted to have a son. Why she’d chosen his genes the way she had. Having children in their world was not just one decision, but many: genes were customizable. Children could be reared to be especially intelligent, especially attractive, whatever suited the parent. For a price, you got not only a child, but the child you’d always dreamt of. It was a profitable market, indeed.  
  
Nowadays, however, he knew his mother - and himself - far too well to be fazed by such things. His mother was, above all else, a businesswoman, and a great one at that. To her, all things were assets. This was the way things were. To deny it, or be wounded by it, was pointless.  
  
“And what place does this second son occupy, then?” he asked.  
  
Seraphi’s eyes met his intensely.  
  
“Are you questioning my business decisions, Balem?” she asked. Her voice was stern.  
  
“I would never,” he said quickly. “I exist to serve you, mother. I do not doubt you.”  
  
“Then don’t.” A pause, and she turned away from him to look out of the window at the careening, opulent colors of the sky outside. “Your brother will serve a purpose to me that you can’t. You are an insurance policy that ensures that my legacy and my corporation will be secure when I personally cannot. My second son will be a weapon.”  
Balem’s eyebrows raised. He was intrigued.  
  
“A weapon?” he asked. “I was under the impression that our security forces were more than adequate.”  
  
The quip was bordering on insolence again, and Balem half expected a reprimand, but he received none. His mother was too lost in thought to mind his prying.  
  
“Not that sort of weapon,” she said. “A _political_ weapon.” In an instant, Seraphi snapped out of her reverie, and turned back to Balem with fire in her eyes. “But enough business, Balem. I tire of explaining myself. Either make yourself of use to me in here, or make yourself of use to me out there.”  
  
She gestured to the door, and Balem smiled. That was that, he supposed. Their conversation was over, and whatever purpose his mother had for this second son she was planning to have, it was important. He’d ask her again another time.  
  
Without delay, he kissed his way down to where it mattered most, and he wrote his dissertation once more.

  


**Author's Note:**

> http://jupiterjonesx.tumblr.com/


End file.
